“Each used a different path when they reached for me. I could feel their touch but could not tune it in. When Carpathians exchange blood, the mental bond becomes stronger. Each individual sharing creates an exclusive path that only the two participants can use.” Another fragment of information came out of nowhere. “Males rarely exchange blood unless they have a lifemate.”
Why? The question shimmered in his mind. Shea didn’t even realize it.
Jacques made the mental equivalent of a shrug. “Once blood has been taken, we can track at will. The closer the bond, the stronger the trail. If it is an actual exchange, each can easily find and’speak’ to the other. Males can turn after so many centuries alone.”
“I don’t understand what you mean, turn.”‘
“After two hundred years we lose all emotion, all ability to feel. We are natural predators, Shea. We need a lifemate to bring back feeling, to balance us. As the centuries go by, it is easy to give in to the need to feel something, even if only momentarily. A kill while feeding brings a rush of power. But it also turns one. Once a Carpathian turns, he can never go back. He becomes the thing of human legend. A vampire. An amoral killer, cold-blooded, without compassion. He must be hunted and destroyed.” A grim smile touched his mouth, did not reach his black eyes. “You can see why lone males rarely take the chance of a blood exchange. It is incredibly easy to be tracked after an exchange, and if one turns…”
Shea’s white teeth scraped at her lower lip. Beneath his fingers her pulse was racing. “I don’t want to believe what you’re saying.”
“You saved me from such a fate. I know my mind is still in fragments, but I am saved from walking the earth as the undead.”
“Those men, the ones who came after me…”
“They are human killers.” There was contempt in his mind, in his voice. “Those they destroyed were Carpathian, not vampire.”
“So the one you called the betrayer…”
“Is a Carpathian… turned vampire.”
* * *
Chapter Nine
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A gust of wind howled, raced through the room, brought a spray of rain through the door. Jacques gently pushed Shea behind him. “The others come,” he warned her.
Shea groped behind her for the wall. These people were definitely a different species. Her father had also been one of them. A part of her was intrigued and excited. If she studied them as a scientist, she would be in her element. But she was stuck in the middle of the drama instead of being able to observe it from a distance. She caught Jacques’ wrist. “Let’s just go far away from here, away from these people, this place.”
“It is important to know as much as possible.” His voice was soft and mesmerizing, deliberately tender, wrapping her in the safe cocoon of his protection. “The healer comes with the one who names himself my brother. The woman is with them.” He was uneasy not knowing where the third male was. He trusted none of them completely. Somewhere deep inside himself he knew his tormentors had ripped out something precious that he could never fully regain.
Shea’s hand crept up his arm. Her forehead rested against the middle of his broad back, a tender, loving gesture of solidarity. Jacques could not bear to withdraw completely from her mind, so it was easy for her to hear the echo of his thoughts when she wanted. She felt sorrow for him, sorrow for both of them. “Whatever was taken from you, Jacques, has only made you stronger. The one who healed you was a miracle-worker,” she whispered softly, meaning it. “I’ve never seen anything to equal it. But it’s really your own determination that kept you alive.”
Jacques tried to hear that she was consoling him, but instead he heard the interest in her voice, the trace of envy that Gregori could heal so magically, so quickly. The Carpathian had accomplished, in one short session, what she could not. Before he could reply, tell her it was she who had saved his life, the wind was bringing rain and mist streaming through the open door.